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Metaphor For a Tree In the midst of the forest, Peace was the god of light, Radiating and permeating, Filling the cool spaces And comforting the trees in its warmth. It sings of low ravines, Of early morning springs Soft clay between the toes, And the chirrup of young toads. Among the lilting leaves and tender, The oak leaves, Ash trees, And wooded splendor, Deep amidst the fortress with no walls Peace is still found. Somber but alive, With a thousand smells Of a billion faces, A million steps unmarked, But paced by the slow reach of time. It is touch and deliver, Redemption and believer, A force simply complex, Tied to death, Source of life. In the midst of the forest, Inner minds eye, Habitation has invaded our simple lives. Concrete poisons, drawn in spirals, Seeping into what is left of the peace. The foundation of the future, Want and need, Destroys the forest Has reaped its seeds, Drains them and retrains them, Grow up to be a field of weeds. |